Me, Myself & Bobby
by Spoilerwolf
Summary: With Dean out with an injury, it's up to Sam and Bobby to hit the road and take care of a pesky ghost that's attacking people in a small town.  Sam learns a little bit about Bobby and about himself along the way. Minor Hurt!Dean & mild Limp!Sam.


A/N: Wow, it's been a LONG time since I've posted anything. I was honored to be a part of the CWESS fic exchange and had a great time writing this prompt for Mikiya. This fic has been both a blessing and a hardship. It pushed me to try and dig deeper into not only the boys' relationship. but Sam and Bobby's relationship as well. Something that we haven't seen much of on the show.

So Mikiya, this story is for you. I hope you enjoy it girl!

A/N #2: Some mild cursing. You've been warned.

Disclaimer: No, I do not own the characters that appear in the CW's Supernatural. They belong to Eric Kripke and Co. I'm just borrowing them.

* * *

"So remember, Bobby isn't me so he won't be a ray full of sunshine in the early mornings." Dean teased easily, grinning at Sam's scowl as he shuffled behind him on his crutches.

It was the first time in a long time that the boys were splitting up – Sam going off on a hunt with Bobby and Dean… well, he was staying at Bobby's and trying not to wreck the place while the others were gone.

Dean had gotten tossed around a fair bit on their last hunt, which resulted in a wretched knee, sprained ankle and bruised hip. He wouldn't be of any use on this hunt, that's for sure.

Not that he didn't offer to tag along anyways.

Bobby sighed and rubbed his forehead when Dean had pressed the issue. "Look, it should be a fairly simple salt n' burn that should only take a few days. Sam and I can handle it on our own. You -" he pointed a finger at the oldest Winchester, "need to stay off that leg for at least two weeks. That and I need someone to take care of the house and the dog while I'm gone." Bobby had finally gotten himself another dog after Meg had killed Rumsfeld last year. Now he had a chocolate brown four month old lab named Coal.

Secretly, both Sam and Dean referred to the dog as Rummy the Second.

Sam dropped his duffel by the door and turned around, leaning against the door jam. "It's not like you're a 'ray of sunshine' in the morning either."

Dean slapped his brother in the side of the leg with a crutch. "Hey! I'm a joy to be around. Especially in the morning."

Sam rolled his eyes while dodging the next swipe at his leg. "Right. You're only tolerable once you're caffeinated. Till then you're a complete and utter ogre."

"_You're _an ogre." Dean grumbled under his breath and limped back to the living room, easing himself down onto the couch with a wince. "Just come back in one piece, alright? I don't want to have to put an ad in the paper for a new hunting partner."

The sound of tires on gravel got louder as Bobby's truck rolled up the driveway.

Hitching his bag over his shoulder, Sam waved at his brother as he pulled the door open. "You couldn't _pay_ anyone to hunt with you, never-mind live with you." He answered sweetly, and caught his brother mimicking Sam's words under his breath. "I'll be fine." He said more seriously. "Though you better stay off that leg Dean – I _mean _it. The doctor said two weeks; so you're going to rest it for two weeks."

Dean rolled his eyes and made a shooing motion. "Yes _Mom_. Now get going before Bobby leaves your ass behind."

"Later Dean!" Sam yelled over his shoulder as he slammed the door shut, jumping down the stairs and towards the truck where Bobby sat waiting.

Dean waited until the engine revved and listened as it pulled out of the driveway and onto the highway, sighing when he couldn't hear the engine anymore.

There was a clicking sound on the floor by his hand and Dean felt a wet tongue lick his fingers. "It's just you and me now boy." He scratched Coal behind the ears and got a wet tongue on his wrist in response. After a minute of awkward silence, Dean reached for his crutches. "Wanna go see what's in the fridge?"

* * *

The sun was warm on his face, the window rolled down a crack, cool air blowing across his face and music was playing softly in the background.

It should have been heaven.

In fact, it was more like classical music _hell_. Bobby, God bless him, was an irreplaceable hunter, had an unbelievably sharp mind for details, much like Sam was, but his taste in music needed work.

Sam tried not to grimace as _Beethoven's Greatest Hits _started up again on the second side of the tape only an hour into their four hour drive. He tried to tune it out as he picked through the folder that contained newspaper clippings about their hunt, scanning through the articles and pulling out words and sentences that might be useful later.

The young hunter was soon startled out of his thoughts as smooth pavement turned into rough gravel as Bobby pulled into a small gas station. Turning the car off, the elder hunter glanced over at his young counterpart. "You want a drink or something?"

Sam shook his head. "No, I'm good. Thanks."

Bobby shrugged, opening his door. "Suit yourself."

Sam waited until Bobby was safely inside before he leaned his head back against the seat. This was certainly turning into an interesting adventure. The truck coughed and groaned when Bobby shifted gears, not like the smooth purr of the Impala when Dean hit the throttle. Thank God that classical crap was turned off. Another hour of that and he'd have gone mental.

He was so never making fun of Dean's music again. Ever.

Sam made a face. Well okay, at least for a day or two anyways.

* * *

They finally pulled into the Far Lane Motel just as dusk settled in over the small town. Sam went in and got them a room and both men dragged their gear inside.

Two double beds with dark blue linen, a small table tucked into the corner by the lone window and a door at the back of the room that led to the tiny pale yellow bathroom. Small, but considering they were only going to be here for two, three days maximum, it was doable.

Bobby brushed past him and dumped his duffel on the far bed before Sam could do more than close the door, leaving Sam with the bed closest to the door. What would have been Dean's bed had it been the two of them.

Huh. Weird.

Sam shrugged, dropping his bag by the end of his bed and grabbing a seat at the table, lowering his satchel and pulling out his laptop. "So do we have a confirmed identity on this ghost yet?" He asked, waiting for the computer to boot up.

Bobby was busy fishing out papers and files out of his bag, his back to Sam. "No. The reports said that this couple was were attacked by a guy in his late twenties to early thirties – we need to get a positive ID on this guy before we start digging up graves."

They just needed to get down and dig into the recent events in the town – figure out who their culprit was.

No wonder he had loved playing _Clue _so much as a kid.

But first things first. He caught Bobby's eye and asked, "What do you want to eat? I saw a diner down the street."

Bobby shrugged, grabbing his toiletries and putting them on the bathroom counter. "Maybe a clubhouse sandwich, if they have one. Not a burger though, they tend to give me heartburn."

Sam was already shrugging on his jacket when he had asked but paused at the statement that was said so casually. "Sure." He finally said. Heartburn? If he was honest with himself, he had only been partially paying attention. He'd forgotten – _again_ – that this was _Bobby_ and not _Dean_. Dean's food preferences were so ingrained by now that Sam could recite them in his sleep. _Steak, medium rare, side of fries with a pepsi; Double deluxe burger, with extra pickles and extra fries; three eggs, sunny side up, two pieces of toast, hash-browns and an ice tea…._

"Sam?"

His eyes snapped back to Bobby, who stuck his head out of the bathroom. Oops, drifted off there. "Yeah, I'm heading out. I'll be back shortly."

* * *

It was cool outside, even with the sun just dipping behind the clouds and Sam pulled his jacket around him a little tighter.

A few people were walking in the streets. He had to dodge a mom and a baby while trying not to trip on a dog who had gotten loose from its leash. He got some smiles as he passed by and he returned them. He'd forgotten that not everyone looked at you with malice or the intent to kill you.

He was so lost in thought he almost didn't hear the ring of his phone. He fumbled and almost dropped it trying to pull it out of his pocket. "Yeah?"

"_And hello to you too! I take it you made it to town?"_

Dean. As much as it had rankled him with his brother checking up on him all the time, it had turned to a soft sort of fondness. His brother didn't say so much in words, but he said a lot with his actions. "Yeah we did – just a little while ago. I'm just heading out to get food."

Dean seemed to 'uh-huh' on the other end of the phone. "_Bobby driving you crazy yet?"_

Sam wanted to deny it, but found himself smiling as he dodged two kids running towards him and down the street. "Actually, surprisingly enough, he has even worse taste in music than you do."

It was so worth it to hear the laugh on the other end of the line. Dean hadn't laughed much in the last few months since… well, since their Dad died.

Dean's voice sounded suspiciously like he was swallowing tears. "_Oh God, what were you guys listening to?"_

So Sam told him, sometimes laughing with his brother, sometimes staying quiet. Just enjoying his brother's company, however distant they actually were.

Fifteen minutes later and he was standing in front of the Mom and Pop diner he had seen on the way in. "Alright, I'm just going to go in and get some dinner."

A pause. _"At least get something with _calories _Sam, you're all skin and bones as it is. No freaking salad this time."_

Sam grinned, even though his brother couldn't see it. "A salad would do you good Dean. It's healthy for you."

"_Well it's obviously not doing you any good. Get a pasta dish or at least something filling."_

Sam rolled his eyes. Cantankerous older brothers. "Yeah whatever. Look, I'll give you a call tomorrow sometime, see how things are going."

It was quiet on the other end of the line._ "Look, stay sharp and torch the sucker. I don't want to have to track your ass down because you let Casper get up close and personal."_

A few years ago, Sam would have taken it for a lack of confidence in his ability to do the job. Now he saw it for the concern it was. "I'll be careful Dean."

"You better be. I've got a good set up here."

He chuckled. "You mean you've got all the food you can eat and all the porn you can watch."

He couldn't see it, but he knew his brother was grinning. "Like I said, it's a good set up."

They hung up after deciding on a time to call and Sam tucked his phone back into his pocket, suddenly missing his brother.

Sighing, he stared at the diner door for a long moment before reaching for the handle. "Okay, pasta dish it is."

* * *

"Sir? Would you like some more tea?" Sam startled at the unexpected voice, eyes blinking owlishly. "Uh, yes ma'am."

The gentle middle aged woman smiled at him and reached for his glass.

Sam was letting Bobby take point during the interviews because quite frankly, Sam was a walking, talking _zombie_.

He'd gotten back last night and they had ate in companionable silence. Sam was tapping away at his computer, digging up recent news articles, trying to narrow their ghost down while Bobby was flipping through one of his texts that he had run out to the truck to get.

It was just after eleven when Bobby decided to turn in for the night, and Sam stayed up an hour or two longer before finally shutting the computer down and settling into bed for the night.

That's when the snoring started.

Sam didn't think it would bother him initially – hell, Dean snores on occasion, and it's never kept Sam up. Though he wouldn't admit it to Dean, listening to his brother's deep inhales and soft exhalations at night was actually comforting and helped lull Sam to sleep when nightmares weren't plaguing him.

Not with Bobby though.

Bobby had the loudest, most ear piercing snore Sam had _ever_ heard. It was like listening to a clanking engine try to start up before it dies.

Sam tried to ignore it. He started going through a list of herbs and items that they were running low on and would have to put up in the coming weeks.

Still not working.

Then he tried going through the latin exorcisms and rites in his head. Which demon went with which particular exorcism and what rites worked for poltergeists but didn't work for cold spots. The list went on.

So did the snoring.

Three and a half hours later and Sam _still_ wasn't asleep. Bobby was happily snoring away in the bed next to him and Sam was seriously contemplating holding his pillow over Bobby's face until he _stopped freaking snoring_.

Instead he held the pillow over his own face, trying to block out the sound.

He must have finally dosed off eventually, but he heard a groan from the other bed as Bobby got up and tried to tip toe around the room until he could make his way to the bathroom and closed the door.

The shower started up a few minutes later.

Sam peeled one eye open and glanced at the clock and groaned gutturally.

It was only just after five in the morning.

He tried to doze off again, but it just wasn't happening. As soon as Bobby finished in the bathroom Sam went in and had his shower, trying fruitlessly to wake up.

Now here they were, one o'clock in the afternoon doing their seventh interview of the day, and Sam was trying hard not to look disinterested. Or you know, like he was going to tip over and fall asleep on Mrs. Turner's couch.

He forced a smile he didn't feel he had the energy for and jumped in. "So you say your son was attacked last week…."

* * *

Bobby was the one who decided to take a look at the local library and would pick up dinner, so Sam was dropped off at the motel where he shut the door and lay sprawled on his bed, sound asleep.

He awoke sometime before four thirty and felt a little more awake, running a tired hand across his face and trying to stifle a yawn.

By the time Bobby came back just after six, Sam was tapping away on the keys, engrossed in newspaper articles, prints and his own scrawled notes from the interviews earlier today. "Hey." He said as he caught sight of the large brown bag in the older man's arms. "Food?"

Bobby grunted as he kicked the door closed and dropped the bag on the table, scattering notes. "You're just like your brother – think with your stomach."

Sam gave him a sheepish grin. "Did you have much luck at the library?"

He shrugged, pulling Styrofoam cartons out of the bag. "I didn't get much. Just a report about a funeral a month ago about a boy who had been killed in a hit and run."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I probably came across the same report as you. A 'Matthew Lamont'?" At Bobby's nod, he continued. "I think this is our guy." He turned the laptop around so Bobby could read.

They ate through periods of conversation – both men exchanging information, swapping theories and ideas.

Bobby scanned the rest of his notes, glancing up at Sam when he finished. "This is good Sam. _Really_ good."

Sam felt a little heat touch his cheeks. Praise had to be earned in his family, and Bobby was no exception. The hunter rarely ever gave out compliments and when he did, it was because you had earned it.

"So, salt and burn tonight?" He asked.

Bobby smiled at him – not gruff or hardened, but an honest smile. "Looks like kid."

* * *

Dean lay stretched out on the couch, mouth full of ice cream and a puppy studying him intently from his perch on Dean's lap while he watched _David Letterman's Top Ten_. "No." He said sternly without looking at him after the puppy's second whine.

He felt a paw scratch his elbow, then a wet nose that sniffed tentatively at the bottom of his bowl. "Stop that." He growled without heat, knowing he was beat when those wet looking eyes met his.

He glanced around; almost half afraid someone was watching. "Here," He lowered his overflowing spoon full of ice cream to the dog. "You better not tell Sam this – I don't want the kid to think I've gone soft." The dog licked enthusiastically at the melting desert, wiping the spoon clean.

Dean helped himself to a spoonful and swallowed, enjoying the cool taste. "I wonder how Sam and Bobby are doing…."

* * *

The ghost of Matthew Lamont was _not_ going to go peacefully. Figures they always get the difficult cases.

They had both decided that it would be better if Sam dug the grave and Bobby stood guard, shotgun at the ready. Sam had a weapon in reach near the headstone should he need it, but he trusted Bobby to cover his back while he dug into the cold, frozen ground.

Two hours later, and Sam added latin curses to the english ones as he wiped his brow with one arm and then tossed up another shovel full of dirt to the pile off to his right. "I hate digging graves in the winter months. Pain in the ass…." Sam grunted as another chunk of dirt was removed from the grave as he added it to his pile.

Bobby shook his head, grinning. "Well suck it up _princess_ – that grave isn't going to dig itself."

Sam grumbled to himself about a lack of an offer to help, but bit his tongue, unable to help but smile at the teasing, even as his muscles burned as he heaved another mound of dirt out of the grave.

Truth was, he was really starting to get to know Bobby better – while Dean was always more talkative with the grizzled hunter, Sam shared the same passion of research with the older man. Bobby had the largest collection of demonology texts and rites that Sam knew of. It was enough to make Sam go into a geekified coma if he had half a chance to read even a chunk of the books Bobby had on hand – or at least, that's what Dean would say.

Even when Sam was small, the older hunter had always tried to keep him entertained with reading while he stayed at Bobby's place with his brother whenever they were close enough to North Dakota to drop by for a visit. His father usually had a hunt he needed research on, and Bobby was an expert on many of the supernatural creatures they hunted. Dad felt safe enough to leave the boys there in Bobby's care while he went off to hunt, and it seemed Bobby enjoyed having the company. Dean? Bobby could entertain his brother with cars – spare parts, spare junk, spare cars. Dean would be in mechanic heaven. Sam, on the other hand, was given different books to read that Bobby borrowed from the town library for him – at least until he was old enough to read the texts he had on vanishing spells, exorcisms and other assortments of interesting facts that Sam absorbed like a sponge.

It was only too bad that Dad and Bobby had gotten into a row a few years before Sam left for college. Sam still didn't know what the fight had been about – his dad had kept quiet about that – but it was ugly. Not many people would dare point a shotgun at their father, but there was something to say about how Bobby dealt with other people. There was no going around the bush about it – straight up shotgun to his dad's face and telling him to get the hell off his property. Sam had admired the man's gall – and found a voice mail message on his cell phone a few days later saying that while he had told his dad to never come back, that it did not extend to Sam or to Dean.

Unfortunately, Sam didn't have more than a phone call or two with Bobby before he went to school, and cut ties with everyone from the hunting world.

He felt guilty for it now, for losing contact and allowing it to happen – but Bobby wasn't one to hold grudges.

Well, for too long anyways.

Sam felt it when his shovel hit something solid. He let out a long tired breath as he started to dig more earnestly. "Finally hit the casket."

Bobby stood above him, peering over his shoulder. "About time. I thought you were digging a hole to China."

Sam huffed out a laugh. "It certainly felt like it." Sam finally tossed the shovel out of the grave and dug out the corners of the casket by hand, feeling along the edge of the surprisingly smooth wood as he tried to find the handle to open it. It took some maneuvering, but after a few minutes, Sam grasped the handle on the expensive coffin and pulled.

The foul stench as the door opened made Sam gag, his arm going across his nose as he swallowed bile. Sam had dug a lot of graves in his life, but you never really got used to the smell, especially if the deceased was… fresh.

And yes, Matthew Lamont was _very_ fresh.

And apparently pissed off.

No sooner had Sam reached for the salt did a wicked wind blow through, dirt hitting Sam in the eyes, forcing him to shield his face. He could hear the whine of the EMF meter by his shotgun go off as it jolted to life, indicating that their ghost had just arrived. "I think we pissed him off." He yelled over the spray of dirt and choppy wind.

Bobby crouched next to him, handing him the lighter fluid. "You mean _you _pissed him off. I ain't the one standing in his grave pouring salt and lighter fluid on his bones."

Sam sputtered a laugh, even as he saw his breath fog in front of him. "You're just an innocent bystander in all of this, aren't you?"

Bobby grinned at him as he pushed himself up, eyes narrowing and shotgun raised at something Sam couldn't see. "Now you're getting the idea."

Sam was scrambling out of the grave a few seconds later, having watched Bobby being launched several feet away by spectral hands.

"Hey!" Sam's hand clasped his own weapon and aimed it at the dark eyes of the spectre as he drew its gaze. Sam fired off a salt round, and the ghost dispersed. He ran the few feet over to the fallen hunter, who was already pushing himself up. He offered a hand. "You okay?"

"Just peachy." Bobby grumbled in a way that reminded Sam of his brother, but let himself be pulled up.

Sam pumped the shotgun, offering it to Bobby. "Think you can keep him off me long enough to burn his bones?"

Bobby was already waving him off. "Go, I gotcha covered."

Not that Sam doubted it, but even ghosts can be sneaky sons of bitches when they want to be.

Sam had to dodge his own shovel when it was thrown at his face a few seconds later as he reached the edge of the grave, the ghost already back for round two.

He heard Bobby curse, felt the shockwave on his face as the shotgun blast whizzed past his head, the ghost disappearing once again. He dove for the salt, liberally pouring it all over the body. "Sam drop!"

He did so and felt another round of the shotgun reverberate over his head. "Man is he _ever_ pissed off." Sam grumbled, pushing himself up off the ground once again, reaching for the lighter fluid. He managed to pour that onto the bones as well, ducking when a broken piece of headstone was thrown his way. Spirits tend to get violent when you violate their grave site, but this ghost was using everything and anything lying around to either kill them or drive them off.

He was fumbling for his lighter in his pocket and happened to glance up as he did so, eyes widening as a stone monument off to his left shuddered violently, stone cracking as it split apart, many of the pieces aimed directly at the older hunter. "Bobby move!" Sam yelled, throwing himself at the older hunter and shoving him down.

Something hard collided with Sam's head, whiting out his vision and causing his limbs to turn to rubber as he hit the ground and knew no more.

* * *

"_Sam."_

Someone was calling his name, but Sam couldn't get his tongue to move or get his mouth to open to reply. He couldn't feel his body at all and his mind seemed scrambled, like there was something he should be doing but wasn't. Each time he reached for it, it danced away, and the numbing darkness felt good and he let himself sink into it.

"_Damnit boy, open your eyes!" _

He wasn't sure, but he might have scrunched his brow in annoyance at that. He wasn't a kid; he was a full grown adult, thank you very much.

He thought he heard a frustrated sigh. "_I could use your help right about now Sam." _

Help? What exactly could Sam do? He couldn't even move his limbs, never mind _help_ someone.

A rough hand grabbed his shoulder and gave him a hard shake. "Damnit Sam, wake up!"

Sam peeled open bleary eyes, instantly shutting them when the world moved violently. Oh God, he was going to throw up.

His face felt hot and sticky and his head…. Oh God, he wondered if his brains were leaking out of his ears because his head was on _fire_.

He managed to pry one eye open and found Bobby staring worryingly at him, not his usual gruff annoyed look. "You back with me kid?" He asked tightly, his hand a steady pressure on Sam's shoulder.

Sam swallowed back his nausea and blood. "Yeah, I think so."

Bobby nodded. "Good. Cause I think it's time we sent this ghost packing before he caves our heads in."

Sam had to agree with that. His head already felt caved in.

He must have zoned out, because Bobby was shaking his shoulder, calling his name. "What?" He asked, half annoyed, half pained. His headache was ramping up with the movement.

The older hunter quirked an eyebrow at him. "I think we might need an actual _fire_ to finish the salt and burn, kid."

Sam's eyes widened at the thought and he sat up stiffly, head propped against the headstone they were hiding behind. Oh shit, where was his lighter? "My… lighter's around here somewhere." God, his head hurt.

Bobby glanced at him, forehead pinched. "You don't carry a spare?"

They stared at each other for a moment before Sam reached tentatively into his jean's pocket and pulled out a second lighter. "I forgot I had another one."

Bobby fought real hard not to roll his eyes. "I'm thinking a hospital might be in the cards for you after this."

Sam blearily glanced over the tombstone, trying to judge distance. Or trying to – his vision was blurry and trying to blink it away wasn't working. "Can you cover me?"

Bobby gave him an incredulous look. "Can you _walk_?"

Sam shrugged, giving the other hunter a tight grin. "Never stopped me before."

He got an amused snort from behind him. "I'm beginning to see that. You're definitely your father's son."

He didn't know exactly what to make of that… focusing on the here and now was sapping all of his mental concentration. He'd save that comment to focus on another time.

Sam was able to walk… more or less. It was more of a stumble and drift, but with his back covered by Bobby, he was able to get to the grave without much protest.

Except when the ghost plowed into him, knocking him back several feet, but by that point, he'd dropped the lighter on the grave and saw the towering flames engulf the small grave.

Sam landed with a harsh grunt, his back taking the brunt of the fall and managed to open his eyes to the ghost screaming as it burst into flames much like its bones were.

He rested his head back on the ground and tried not to throw up.

A few moments later he heard boots approaching, and opened his eyes to catch Bobby's look. "What?"

The hunter didn't say anything for a moment, face unreadable. Then, finally: "You Winchesters make friends where ever you go."

And damned if Sam didn't laugh at that.

* * *

Dean yawned and stretched his arms over his head, absently scratching the back of his neck before he reached for his crutches and headed into the kitchen.

He'd gotten a call from Bobby late last night, saying that the ghost had been taken care of and that they were coming back and would be there by lunchtime. The older hunter had been a bit cagey when he'd asked if he could speak to Sam, but he figured if something had gone wrong, the older man would have said something.

Famous last words.

He scrounged up something for the dog to eat while making a plate of bacon and eggs for himself. He felt a paw at his leg, and felt suckered into sharing a piece of bacon. Damn those puppy dog eyes. It sucks that he has his own mutt who uses them against him all the time to get his way.

Not that he doesn't mind indulging him once in a while. Usually a new book gets him a dimpled smile from his shaggy haired brother and the reward far outweighs the cost.

He washed the dishes and limped into the living room, gently settling himself on the couch and flicking on the TV, trying to pass the time.

He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until the dog started barking at the front door and he could faintly hear a truck coming up the driveway. He glanced at the clock on his way to the door and saw that it was just past one in the afternoon.

He stepped out onto the front porch, shielding his eyes from the surprisingly bright sun, and waited for the truck to stop. The dog darted past him, even as he tried to grab it. "Coal! Get back here!"

The dog paid him no mind, already racing to the driver's side door and probably bouncing up and down like a kid on sugar and steroids.

Actually, the thought made him think of Sam when he was small.

Speaking of, he saw the passenger door open and he limped down the stairs and slowly moved over to the truck as he brother climbed out. "Hey, how did the hunt go?" He asked as he closed the distance, Sam's back to him. "So did things go all – _oh my God_, what happened to your _face_!"

His brother had finally turned his way and Dean gaped at him as he took in the disheveled, bruised and bloody appearance. Sam's sunglasses didn't hide the fact that the whole left side of his face was a swollen mess that made him resemble the _Michelin Man_ – purple, instead of white. There was a solid white bandage that covered half of his forehead and stretched over his left temple that had shadowing of blood on it, making Sam look like he had a serious case of road rash. Dean's hand reached automatically to check the wound. "Sam, what the hell?"

Sam pulled his head away from Dean's reaching fingers, closing the door and trying to bite down on a grimace from the noise. "Nothing. It's no big deal."

"No big deal my ass." Bobby grunted from the other side of the truck, verbalizing Dean's own thoughts on the matter.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, seemingly fighting a headache. With all the bruising, Dean wouldn't be surprised. "I just got my bell rung, okay? The ghost got a little upset that he was going to get torched."

Bobby had finally reached them, carrying a duffel in one hand. He rolled his eyes over Sam's shoulder, giving Dean an annoyed look, before turning his eyes on the youngest Winchester. "A grade three concussion isn't '_just_' getting your bell rung."

Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother, who squirmed under the scrutiny. "Sam…."

Sam reached into the truck through the window and hefted the heavy bag over his shoulder and grabbing his satchel. "Look, I'm fine. A little bruised, but I'm _fine._"

Bobby snorted as he walked past, trudging back into the house as the boys followed slowly after him. "You couldn't remember the date even after the doctor at the hospital told you _three times._ And you were also unconscious for over five minutes before you came back around."

Sam's mouth sagged open at the comment and Dean had to hide his own grin at how Bobby was calling Sam out. God, it was _so_ good to see Sam get owned like this. "There something else you want to tell me Sam?" Not that he was happy to hear Bobby had thought it bad enough to take Sam to the hospital, but he really needed to know that the kid was okay.

Sam shut his mouth with a snap, shaking his head slightly. Dean didn't miss the wince.

Nor was he above using blackmail. "I'll just ask Bobby." He threatened as they reached the stairs.

Sam grunted and Dean could have sworn he'd heard some latin curses under his breath. "Look - it's no big deal. The ghost was tossing things around, we hit the deck, but not before I got tagged. Then we tossed the lighter on his bones, and that was that. We cleaned things up, re-filled the grave and we were done."

Dean pushed the door open and limped inside, Sam closing the door behind them and dropping his bag by the door with a sigh. "So what did you get 'tagged' with?"

Sam pulled the sunglasses off – geez, even his left eye was puffy and swollen – and opened his mouth to answer, but Bobby came up behind them and beat him to it.

"I think it was a monument of a golfer – mid swing."

Dean found himself swallowing a laugh as he asked, "Dude, you got taken out by _Tiger Woods_?"

Sam scowled at the both of them. "I hate you." He muttered to Dean as he stepped around him and into the living room, sinking down onto the sofa with a sigh. He was asleep before he could even take his shoes off.

Dean slowly entered the room a few minutes later with Bobby at his back, staring at his slack jawed brother before turning his gaze on Bobby. "He really okay?" He asked in all seriousness.

The hunter nodded. "He's okay. The Doc took him for an x-ray and an MRI to rule out any further head trauma. He's got a concussion and six stitches in his forehead, but he'll be okay. He just needs to sleep and rest up." He peered at the older Winchester. "It would have been _me_ with the head injury if it hadn't been for Sam. Fool of a boy pushed me down and took the hit."

Dean snorted, eyes not leaving his brother's sleeping form. Story of Sam's life. "Yeah, he does that a lot." He said with utter fondness. He just hoped that Sam's heroics wouldn't get him killed.

Bobby muttered something about 'idjits' and 'Winchesters' in one breath before turning away and heading into the kitchen, leaving Dean alone with his brother.

After a moment, Dean pulled himself along the last few feet on his crutches to the couch, maneuvering Sam's long legs out of the way so Dean could sit down on the far cushion before plopping Sam's feet in his lap, his fingers already pulling the laces undone and tugging his brother's boots off. Finding the discarded blanket on the floor, Dean pulled it up and draped it over his brother and reached for the remote on the floor and propping his own feet on the table. It pulled on his sore hip, but Dean couldn't find it in him to care much. He patted his brother's ankle. "Glad to have you back Sammy." He flicked the TV on, watching the screen, but listening for his brother.

Always listening.

END

* * *

So the prompt was:

Bobby and Sam go on a hunt together since Dean... did something so he cannot come with them. Emphasis on how good a hunter Sam is and how Bobby is NOT Dean but Sam still expects him to react as Dean would which might hinder the hunt a little...


End file.
